Speak Louder Than Words
by Spellb0und
Summary: Sam is cursed, and the job just got a lot harder. SFTCOLARS secret santa summer exchange entry for Sendintheclowns.


So in all honesty, it could've been a hell of a lot worse. The witch was sprouting off spells, and one whizzed them by so quick, barely missing Sam. She's not all that talented, either. Neither of them are five years old, twitching on the floor, or in any pain so they call it a night.

It was pretty much a bust lead. The witch got away before Sam or Dean could even blink.

Shakily, both brothers got to their feet, scouring the rest of the house for signs of the witch. But she was gone. They would search the town later, but as really she hadn't done much actual harm they let it wait. Opting instead for a bed to sleep in for the night to recharge and more research to do.

It had been an accident, that they had even stumbled upon this one. When really, they were only stopping for the night. But, Sam had heard some strange going ons around, and they decided to investigate, thus running into the woman. The confrontation was short, she had taken them by a bit of a surprise, and she was pissed off by them.

And that is exactly what happened.

Sam slept in the car on the way back to the hotel, the forty-five minute drive taxing on his already over-tired body. Dean was a bit reluctant to wake him as they arrived back into the parking lot of the Illinois hotel room. He taps Sam on the shoulder. "Hey. Wake up."

Hell, he even carries both duffels into the room.

--

It's been twelve hours, exactly since the incident with the witch and even now neither Sam nor Dean has sprouted wings in their sleep, been turned into goats or anything like that. So they're in the clear, Sam thought. He was awake now, starring at the laptop screen. It's still early, about six in the morning. He slept a good part of the night, but woke up in the middle. It wasn't the nightmares that drove this, but the need to check a few things out.

He yawned and glanced over to where his brother still slept.

Coffee. It's like fuel to a car, for them-the driving force amidst many all-nighters and hours spent reading or taxing their bodies with the thrill of the hunt, getting them through the day. He grabbed the keys off of the dresser and wandered out.

The cool December air bit his skin, pushing his hair out of his face. December. Two months. They'd been searching for two months and nothing. No sign of the thing that had turned their lives upside down, no sign of their father. That was all he wanted. But now, like Dean said-they would continue to help as many people as they possibly could.

For about six o'clock, the entire shop is pretty crowded, people rushing to work, grabbing a quite bite and cup of coffee to get the morning off. Sam waited patiently. The woman in front of him, smiled as she passed him by. Politely, Sam smiled back.

"Good morning, sir. Welcome to The Bean, what can I get you?" the kid looked pretty young, and his voice is overly-high.

It was here that it would begin, something so seemingly small that it almost went unnoticed to Sam. He placed his order, a Vanilla Latte for himself (old habits die hard, let Dean say what he will.) and a regular with a shot of espresso for Dean.

"I'm sorry. What was the first thing you ordered?" the young man asked, looking at the register with an expression of confusion.

"Nallia Vatte. Half-caf." Sam repeated slowly.

The young man scratched his head. "Did you mean Vanilla Latte?" he looked up at Sam.

"That's what I said." Sam insisted. Hadn't he…

"Right, right…"

So he took his name down, Sam waited to get his order, looking through the newspaper briefly, scanning the headlines and articles until his order, arrived completely forgetting about the incident. He was tired, didn't sleep a whole bunch, he probably slurred a bit. Or the kid was new. Either way, no big deal.

--

Sam returned, took a shower, and continued the research. It was eight by then. Dean had taken over the search while he was out and then yelled at him for using all of the hot water. Sam smiled and rolled his eyes before going back to work. Twenty minutes later, Dean came out, shaking the water out of his hair, and onto the laptop. "Hey! What the hell." Sam covered the screen and wiped away the water drops that landed there.

"Sorry." Dean apologized, without sounding as if he meant it, completely ignoring the glare he was getting. "Find anything?" he's pulling his shirt over his head, looking at the screen.

"Well. I may have something on our witch." Sam smirks, and clicks the link. "She's been arrested twice for stealing at a mystical shop. Her name is Mashely Aalles, she's been known to move around and has gone under several different identities."

"Who said what now? Her name? Mashely?"

"Ashley." Sam corrected.

Dean looked confused. "That's not what you said. You called her Mashely Aalles."

Sam looked confused. "What? No, that's not what I said. Mashely Aalles. Maybe you should get your ears checked man." he shook his head.

For a moment, they were silent. "Okay. Sam," Dean tapped his finger on the table a few times, looking at his brother intently. "Right."

-

Sam didn't notice, the slip ups. And they only seemed to happen with two word phrases or names. He couldn't hear himself speak the words, but the look Dean would shoot him would tell him that he had did it again and he'd groan inwardly.

What's worse was that it didn't always happen. There were days where his speech was normal as it ever was, but sometimes it would completely come out. But one thing, was that it always came out right in the worst time.

--

"You know, I could never understand you before for all the words you use. But now_, this _is hilarious." Dean was laughing.

"Shut _up_." Sam grumbled.

Dean only continued to laugh, and Sam rolled his eyes. "_Yuck Fou_."

The laughter was more of a howl than anything.

--

A few weeks passed, and the brothers were able to find a hunt to take on in the time being. A woman was having some problems in her home. Small things happened, but after checking the signs, it sounded like a poltergeist. So far it was just strange noises and small things, but before it stopped and turned into something more, it needed to be stopped.

Getting dressed in their best attire, two newly acquired suits, shiny IDS and names, they knocked on the door of her place to stay for the time being.

"Ja-" Sam started.

"We're electricians. We need to check the wiring." Dean flashed a smile, and an ID, cutting Sam off before any damage could be done. Sam glared.

Sarah Miller stepped aside to let them in. "Thanks for coming so quickly. Jerry, my husband-he can't find anything wrong."

--

The job is very precise.

Let's say-exorcism. The exorcism is an exact art, the words have to be pronounced perfectly and said correctly or else it will not work. And all hell, will literally break loose. And Dean almost always let Sam do the reading while he held it off. The poltergeist was pissed off, rampaging and roaring and causing hell. And Dean was having a hard time trying to distract the damned thing.

Wouldn't fate so have it that Sam stumbled, unknowingly of course. Everything seemed to stop. Sam looked around, his hand going to his face, realizing what must've happened. "Shit." he muttered.

The spirit was pretty angry. Possibly more so than before. Without warning, Dean was slammed with great force against the wall, breath leaving his body. "Sam! Finish it, damn it!"

He bit his lip, trying again. This had to work, _please let me get it right_. Sam began reading once again out of the small book. Concentrating on the words. Normally, Latin came at an eyes, but with the spell still holding on him it was definitely a lot harder than it had been.

A chair came in his general direction, flying close to his face-a near miss. His quick reflexes are all that save him from being beheaded. A piece of wood splinters off and hits him in the back of the head. Sam blinks back stars, feeling blood trickle down the back of his head. "Son of a-" the book goes flying out his hands and skitters to the floor. Something sharp wizzes by, he can hear the wind rush past his ear as he dives to grab.

_Crash! _The chandelier (Whoa. There was a chandelier? Sam doesn't remember seeing that before, but then he realizes that it must've fallen through the other floor.) falls and he dives.

They were going to need more than a little peroxide and bandages after this between the both of them. Screw the book, he would do this by memory.

"_Ego expello vos ….ex quod vos venit_." Sam struggles out. And there is a huge flash of light, and everything stops. Glass shatters as it falls to the floor.

The room is in shambles, and the boys have a lot of explaining to do. At least, Dean does. Sam is relieved of awkward explanations due to the mix up deal.

Dean clambers to his feet, with a groan. Sam forces himself to find his own legs. "Well," Dean raises his eyebrows and smacks Sam in the back. "That went well."

--

"Try, Led Zepplin."

"Led Zepplin."

"Okay," Dean thought a moment. "Ted Nuggent."

"Dean do we have to do this? It's gone. I haven't messed up for over a week." Sam peeks up from the laptop.

"Dude. Humor me."

"Fine. Ted Nuggent. Happy?" Sam grumbles.

Dean looked impressed. "Alright Sammy, you passed. I think we're good."

The witch they had been looking for, had all but disappeared. It was likely, that she had left the country, or she had taken on a new identity.

Which was alright, since all lingering effects of whatever she had done to Sam seemed to have disappeared along with her.

"It's Sam-_oh forget it_."


End file.
